


Bottoms Up

by broodingmischief



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drinking, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broodingmischief/pseuds/broodingmischief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some memories you don't remember voluntarily. It's the world around you that triggers them: a smell, a song, or sometimes a certain drink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottoms Up

"Congratulations on the retirement, Anderson." Garrus approached and Anderson clasped his hand, shaking it firmly. He had a grip that rivaled Shepard's.

"Thanks for coming, Garrus. We wouldn't be here without you. Literally."

"So, what's the plan now?" Garrus asked. "Find a hot, sunny island? Make a practice target in Udina's likeness?"

Anderson let out a short, amused huff. "First, I need to greet the rest of these guests. Talk later?"

"Sure thing."

Garrus left to amble through the party crowd. He didn't stop to talk to anyone, not even officers he recognized. He felt too detached, too fresh out of the fray. His brain was still in save the galaxy mode. He half expected a Collector to crash in through the glass ceiling, its wings buzzing and particle rifle firing. He passed by Legion doing some sort of funny dance, popping its limbs while Joker bragged about having programmed it to do 'the robot.'

He drifted on, his habits nagging him. His eyes scoured the area, determining which lookouts had the clearest shots and what he could duck behind as cover should he need it. He stopped to pick up objects and test their weight as a makeshift weapon. He analyzed the guests, picking apart their body language and rating them on a scale from one to ten on how dangerous they were and how likely they were to shriek, draw a pistol, and start shooting. Most of the numbers on the latter end were low, but he knew he could be wrong. Spirits knew he had been wrong in the past.

But his conscious mind knew better than to treat a party that way. Shaking his head, he approached the bar and hailed the bartender. A turian met him. He looked roughly the same age, but stood slightly taller and wore teal markings over his carapace. The bartender chose his moves carefully, like he was ready to defend himself at a moment's notice. Garrus recognized those movements; in himself, in Shepard.

"I'll have what she's having," Garrus said, jerking his head towards a nearby turian.

The bartender nodded and set to work, mixing and pouring for a good few seconds before sliding a drink in front of him. Garrus gratefully took the beverage, took a swig, and memories inundated him. He saw a line of bodies motionless under coppery tarps, felt sick with grief, and his ears and chest vibrated with the pounding bass of music. He swallowed slowly and set down the glass, dizzy with recollection. The bartender blinked at him, unaware of what he'd caused.

"Have you, ah, worked somewhere else before?" Garrus asked, tasting the remnants off of his teeth. The bartender made a shrug-like motion.

"I've worked plenty of places," he said, deliberately ambiguous.

"How about Omega?" Garrus pressed.

He hesitated, then nodded once. Garrus shifted his weight on to his back leg. Of course.

"I thought I recognized this drink." He scratched at his fringe. "Hard to forget, actually."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?" the bartender asked with an uncomfortable chuckle.

"Compliment," Garrus said. "I wouldn't have ordered ten after if I didn't think so. Why did you leave?"

"It's Omega," he answered. "What more do I need to say?"

"Point taken." Garrus tipped the drink towards him. "Thanks for the drink, uh..?"

"Capius," he said, then half-smiled and walked off. Garrus turned his back to the counter and tentatively sipped again. He could've thanked Capius for the hangover, too, but he'd wrought that monster on himself. He mostly wanted to thank him for helping him numb one of the worst nights of his life with a tasty treat. He'd supplanted most of his feelings of the event with action and productivity. Hell, they'd stopped the Collectors, and if that wasn't productive, then he didn't know what was. That didn't mean it still couldn't sting every once in a while.

Garrus stayed sober for the rest of the evening after that.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't published any fanfiction in forever, gosh. Forgive me if I'm rusty.


End file.
